


darling, dearest...

by lifetimeoflaughter



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), Teen Titans (Comics), Titans (TV 2018)
Genre: Brother-Sister Relationships, DCU Titans fix-it, Dick Grayson and Donna Troy are siblings, Dick Grayson-centric, Dick and Donna growing up together, Dick deserves better, Donna Troy-centric, Donna deserves better, Family Feels, Fluff, Jason's death is referenced, More Fluff, Sibling Love, Some angst, Some stuff bc titans didn't give me what i wanted, donna being his big sis makes me soft ok sh, lil bit of a sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:41:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22991131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lifetimeoflaughter/pseuds/lifetimeoflaughter
Summary: a series of snapshots of Dick and Donna, through the years.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Donna Troy
Comments: 8
Kudos: 68





	darling, dearest...

**Author's Note:**

> \- Quick note:  
> This is about I think 2 - 4 timelines/versions of the characters in one fic, including but not limited to:  
> \- DCU titans  
> \- Comics! Original Teen Titans  
> \- The Graduation Day run  
> \- main comics continuity.  
> Suffice it to say i couldn't be assed to deep research the limited visibility of Donna Troy in decades of comics. Enjoy!  
> ps. Donna is approx 2-2.5 years older than Dick in this, if it makes sense.

It was cold and overcast outside, the clouds a deep purple-grey, giving the city a brief reprieve before the next onslaught of rain. _And this was supposed to be summer_ , he thought. _Fun_. 

Alfred had made him put on _formal_ clothes and wouldn’t let him leave the gloomy drawing-room. Bruce still wasn’t down, and knowing him, he probably couldn’t decide which way to part his hair to make sure he looked as handsome as possible. _Stupid socialite._

Dick wouldn’t usually be this upset about things, but today was not the best of days. It had been summer for two weeks now, and he was starting to get antsy stuck in the manor. Most days he spent his time practicing flips and jumps in the training room, or reading in the library, or just walking the grounds, doing whatever. Sometimes, when Bruce wasn’t needed at Wayne Enterprises, they’d have a picnic by the pool or train in the open. Somedays Uncle Clark would come visit, and that was always fun.

But today? It had been raining all morning. Dick loved the rain; he loved the smell of it, the jumping in puddles and the way his hair curled in the damp air. He loved being soaked to the skin in cold water and would’ve gladly spent all day outside even at the risk of being stuck in bed for the next two weeks with pneumonia. But Alfred was Alfred, and also extremely British, and so all he saw was a potential for young mater Dick to catch his death of cold. Apparently, the British didn’t know the meaning of the word “fun”.

He’d told Alfred as much, and had been given the patented Pennyworth raised-eyebrow-glare which shut him up almost immediately on his way upstairs to change. To make matters worse, one of Bruce’s League friends was coming, and Bruce had insisted that Dick be ready and presentable and this meant _no doing flips from the chandelier in the west wing_ , and _no messing up your hair once Alfred sets it in place, is that clear?_ So now Dick was trapped, wearing a freshly ironed polo and uncomfortable new jeans, and one of the thousands of pairs of shoes Bruce had stocked for him when he first moved in.

 _Tick, tock, tick, tock,_ said the grandfather clock, echoing all around the empty house.Bruce’s league friend was taking FOREVER.

KA-BOOM! A clap of thunder resounded as the clouds started flooding the streets of Gotham once more. Dick sighed. This was going to be a very, very long day. 

He deduced, in the way that small children do, that the faster he saw the car, the faster Bruce’s friend would get inside, and the faster they would leave. So he decided to move to the window seat. He had a clear vantage point (that was always important, he hears Batman say in the back of his head) of the front driveway. And he could race the raindrops. But no sooner than he had settled into the space, he saw an elegant white car pull up in front of the manor. Out stepped a tall woman in a dark red coat, carrying a large umbrella. Her stride was smooth; she didn’t stumble on any of the stones on the path up to the house despite wearing heels, not even the one Dick had caught his shoe on (and almost broken his nose on in consequence) several times. 

But if that was Bruce’s League friend, and if it was a she... _was he going to meet Wonder Woman?!_ He took it back. Today was going to be a great day! But... Who was that trailing behind her? She was shorter than Wonder Woman, and she wore black sneakers instead of burgundy heels. Her coat was a shade of navy-or...black? He couldn’t tell. She kept her head down as she walked through the rain, seemingly unbothered by the pitter-patter of raindrops into her bouncy brown hair. 

He raced out of the living room to go greet them but somehow was beat there by Bruce, who seemed to magically materialize in front of the door. The tall lady handed Alfred her coat and her umbrella with a warm smile and turned to Bruce, who greeted her with a hug. And then she turned to him, with a gracious smile,

“And you must be Bruce’s ward, yes? It’s a pleasure to meet you, Richard.” She says, holding her hand out to shake his. He does. Her English is almost unaccented, if a little formal. “You look just like your photos, if not more adorable.”

At this, he turns to Bruce, asking incredulously, “You show them photos of me?” 

Bruce coughs into his sleeve and claps a firm hand on Dick’s shoulder, gesturing at Wonder Woman. “Dick, this is Princess Diana of Themyscira, better known as Wonder Woman-” 

“You can call me Aunt Diana, sweetheart. You call Clark your uncle, correct? I am no different. And this,” she says, putting an arm around the girl, “is Donna Troy, my-”

“Protege. Her protege. It’s nice to meet you,” she says, holding out her hand in what should be a welcoming manner, but the greeting sounds rehearsed and the look on her face is angry, if not downright hostile. So he shakes her hand briefly because he does NOT want to get on her bad side.

“Diana and I have some League business to take care of, so why don’t the two of you go to the uh..library and chat for a bit? We’ll come get you once we’re done,” says Bruce a tad awkwardly. 

“Uh, follow me, I guess,” he says to Donna, watching their respective guardians leave. 

They sit quietly for a few minutes in the library, as the clock on the wall ticks time away noisily. Dick is studying this new girl intensely. She was older than him, but not by a lot. If he was nine, then she was probably eleven. Her skin was cream-coffee-ish - a bit like his, but it seemed to be a tan-kind of shade. Her eyes were a striking shade of blue, and she had Wonder Woman’s shiny hair, but Donna’s was messier and more windswept. She was wearing a pair of black sneakers, and _hey, I have the same ones!_ So he tries to start a conversation.

“I have the same sneakers-well, I mean mine are boy-sneakers, but they’re the same make, and that’s kind of cool, right, that we both like the same kind of shoes...” he trails off. His voice sounds really small in the silence of the empty library. Donna looks up from fiddling with the charm bracelet on her wrist and frowns at him. 

Another few minutes of silence.

“How old are you? I’m nine. I turned nine this spring,” he volunteers, a hopeful smile on his face. I’m going into the fifth grade this September. You?” 

“I don’t go to school,” she says, a little bit haughtily. “I’m taught by tutors. And I’m turning twelve next October. Twelve according to you humans, anyway. Time works differently on the Island.” 

“Wait, so you’re like secretly a thousand years old? That’s so crazy!”

“Not a thousand - I’m not ancient! Just older than you. Probably smarter too.”

“Oh yeah?” says Dick, suddenly brought to life by the idea of competition. “Well, if you’re so smart, what’s three thousand and twenty-four multiplied by seven thousand and seventy-two?” 

Donna pauses for a moment, thinking carefully.

“Twenty-one million, three hundred and eighty-five thousand, seven hundred and twenty-eight.” she says, with a smug smile. 

Dick crosses his arms and tries not to show it, but he’s impressed. It shows. He moves from across her into the armchair next to her.

“You gotta show me how to do that! That’s so cool.” Donna smiles a little at this. “Sure. But what’ll you teach me in return?”

“Teach you? You want to learn something from me?”

“Diana says that one should seek knowledge in whatever situation one finds themselves in,” she says, like she’s recounting a lesson from a long time ago. “If I’m going to be stuck here with you, I want it to be worth my while.” Dick thinks about this, his face scrunched up in thought as Donna watches him. “I guess I could teach you some gymnastics stuff?”

“O-o-kay then,” she says, turning to face him. “Here’s how it starts...”

-

They end up in the gym a while later, and he’s showing her how to do a handstand. 

“Now you try,” he says, dropping down and dusting his hands. She raises an eyebrow and casually flips herself onto her palms, walking back and forth on her hands and coming to a stop on one hand. She sits down on the blue mat and brushes some imaginary dirt from her star-patterned t-shirt and crosses her arms. 

“Real gymnastics, Boy Wonder. I’m not a baby.”

Dick is about to protest that he didn’t know her capabilities and he _would’ve_ started with something different if he had known, but another question comes to mind.

“How’d you know about...” he pauses, his eyes darting around the empty room “Robin? ‘Supposed to be a secret, y’know.”

“I mean, Bruce didn’t just show her just one picture of you - he talks about you a lot. It’s from a while back, but Diana showed me that photo of the first time you suited up. She _also_ told me the story of how you refused to wear pants over that itsy bitsy leotard of yours in a Gotham winter? How are you still alive?” Now it’s Dick’s turn to cross his arms. He’s blushing a bit and deflects the last question with a question. 

“If you know that I’m a vilig-vigil-vilagil-a superhero, you gotta tell me if you’re one. Are you?”

Donna tilts her head towards him, her expression pensive.

“I am a warrior-in-training. Diana wants me to join her as Wondergirl once I complete my courses of study and then I’ll be a proper superhero, like her. But not yet.” Donna’s not entirely happy about this, it seems. So Dick drops down and sits next to his new friend and is about to ask why she looks so down all of a sudden, but then she carries on.

“I’m ready to be a superhero. I want to do good, to make sure that innocent people don’t get hurt anymore. But everything I do feels like a smaller version of what Diana’s doing already and so far, I haven’t really helped anyone.” 

Dick looks at her, and to his surprise, he gets what she means. 

“I know it’s for my own good, and I know I’m young and impulsive and the Amazons are wise, but I’m not sure I want to be Diana Minor - Wondergirl,” she adds on, seeing Dick’s confusion. She sighs.

Dick thinks about this for a few moments and silence hangs heavy.

“Well - you don’t have to be Wondergirl forever, y’know,” he says thoughtfully. “Think of it like, like you’re learning how to swim. You gotta start with water wings, and listening to Alfred when he tells you to get out of the pool, but soon you’ll be able to do handstands in water just as well as you can on land. And then, you can choose what you want to do, whether that’s somersaults or fancy dives in the deep end. Yeah?” he says. At Donna’s incredulous half-grin, he says “I mean with Wondergi-”

“Yeah, yeah, I caught the metaphor, kiddo.” she cuts in, smiling. “Maybe it will go down like that. Who knows, maybe Robin and Wondergirl will be putting their own team together in the future, and we’ll be even better than the League.”

“Bruce does always say that he thinks I’ll be better than Batman when I’m all grown, so yeah, that’s _prooobably_ how things’ll be,” he says, giggling. 

Donna laughs, a bright burst of real laughter. “Here’s to being better Leaguers,” she says, holding out her fist expectantly. “And to being friends.” completes Dick, as he meets her fistbump halfway.

* * *

He’s not exactly sure what Aunt Diana’s doing at a party like this one, but honestly, he’s not bothered. The party’s loud - he didn’t know fancy rich people were _allowed_ to be this loud. It was probably the champagne they kept drinking. They really just kept it coming, huh?

It wasn’t technically bumping into Donna, because he had been fussy about coming to this gala. It had been his third in two months, and he was getting sick of having to dress up in his stupid suit and having his cheeks pinched and being told _oh, aren’t you just darling! Brucie got so lucky - I wish mine were this well behaved!_ and _aren’t you lucky that you have SUCH a wonderful father! Not many orphans get where you are, little man!_ thanks, random stranger, for reminding him just how he lucky was. So, when Bruce was fixing his tie and he’d been trying his last-ditch effort to get out of going by filling those adorable orphan eyes with tears, Bruce had sighed and told him that Aunt Diana was going to be there, and by extension, Donna. (He had to use the orphan-tears more often; he was eleven already. A couple more years and Bruce would just laugh his tears off.)

So he’d spent his time looking for a tall-ish teenage girl with skin any other girl would _kill_ to have. He found her, by the refreshments, and he _really_ wasn’t ready for how much older she looked in her miniature heels and pale pink silk dress, and the signature confident I-could-take-you-down-in-a-heartbeat resting face. When he tapped her on the shoulder, she spun around and suddenly all the hostility faded away and he was just left with normal-Donna levels of confidence. 

“Hi, Dickiebird,” she offers, reaching forward to ruffle his hair. He dodges her reach and gets a slight punch in the shoulder in return. 

“You’re looking worse for wear,” she says, eyeing him up and down with an eyebrow raised. Dick shrugs. It’s been a rough night. A group of very tall and pretty socialites had stopped to pinch his cheeks and make conversation after one of them had spilled her drink on him because _he was just so short, I didn’t see him!_ So now not only was he hungry and tired, but he had also made up his mind about the number of galas he was going to in the future: z e r o. 

Donna still looks pristine, nails and hair perfectly done up despite them being at least two hours into the event. And she’s in a much better mood than he is, so she sets her glass of sparkling water down and puts an arm around him. She doesn’t need to say much - he’s expressed on multiple occasions how much he despises galas. So after a brief hug, she picks up a plate and starts piling it high with the best finger food - french fries, and sliders, and dynamite shrimp, and those little barbecue sticks with the roasted capsicum and tomato along with the chicken. 

“Come on, kiddo. Let’s get away from all these idiots. Found a secret stairwell that leads to a balcony, and we can relax, yeah? Get your mind over whatever’s bothering you. How about we spot constellations if your stupid Gothamite sky’s cleared up by now.”

Dick smiles. Only Donna, with her weird older-than-thou intuition, could make him feel better in an instant. 

The night’s cold, but she doesn’t seem bothered, even though her dress looks like it’s made of paper. She’s holding the plate between the two of them, making her way through a particularly tough piece of chicken. 

“Question. How does it feel to live under a perpetually red sky?" she asks, mid-bite. "Seriously. It’s like the devil took up residence in Jersey clouds. Can’t be the devil though - red skies at night, sailors delight.” When Dick doesn’t respond, Donna stares him down. “Alright, Boy Wonder. What’s on your mind? You’ve been super-silent this evening, and I was not aware that was a superpower you had. Talk.”

Dick leans forward and crosses his arms on the railing, staring at the cloudy sky. “I just- I hate being at these things. I always have. From the very first one that Bruce ever took me to, I’ve hated them. It makes me feel, I don’t know - less than,” he mutters, fingers restlessly tapping on the smooth metal. “It’s not as bad because you’re here, this time, but every time I see all these people I just- I feel like I’m intruding on their world. Like I’m something below them, just because my mom and dad weren’t like them. They talk about me _like I don’t have feelings,_ Donna! Just because I’m a child, because I’m just a stupid orphan Bruce found at the circus.”

Donna’s quiet. She puts the plate down on a table near them and leans forward on the railing to match Dick’s slumped position, arms over the edge and hands interlocking as she studies the city below them carefully. 

“I wasn’t born an Amazon,” she starts, breaking the silence. “Diana rescued me from my burning apartment building when I was a kid. My dad died in the blaze, but Diana whisked me away to Themyscira. I’m not actually one of them.” She looks up at the sky too, searching the deep burgundy expanse for any source of light. “Every teacher I’ve had on the island comments about how lucky I am to be given the life that I’ve been handed. One even pointed out that I didn’t deserve it- I hadn’t proven my worth by sacrificing myself nobly for the denizens of Earth.” The words are recounted like they have a bitter taste, her knuckles whitening as the anger of the day floods back into her bones.

“But you know what,” she says, turning to Dick and grabbing him by the shoulders, her anger dissolving and being replaced with confidence once more. “Bruce doesn’t see you as less than. Nor Diana me. They love us, and they are the only ones that really matter. Rich people or stuck-up warriors, who cares? We don’t need their approval. We have the world’s greatest superheroes on our side. And we have each other, kid. And Alfred and Hippolyta. Grandparents rule!” Dick laughs at that, a small wet laugh, but a laugh nonetheless. 

“You get what I mean, right? WHO CARES WHAT THEY THINK!” she yells, thrusting an arm towards the unsuspecting city. Dick starts shaking with laughter, and Donna grins. His joy is way too infectious to be ignored, and she starts giggling too. So she doesn’t exactly notice him tapping the hand that she’s still gripping his shoulder with.

“Donna, you gotta let go of my shoulder, ow-ow-ouch!”

She lets go immediately, and he looks at her with a relieved expression, wiping his eyes. 

“Look, you may not be a born-and-raised Amazon warrior queen, but you sure as hell got the grip of one. If I can’t go on patrol because of a broken shoulder, ‘m gonna tell Batman it was your fault.”

She ruffles his hair and laughs. “Sure, squirt. He’ll _totally_ believe you.” 

Dick tries to salvage what’s left of the painstaking effort Alfred put into doing his hair, but it’s too late. Ah, well. He turns back towards the city, arms crossed over the railing, watching as the cars zip down the roads and lights switch off in the buildings.

“Hey, Donna?”

“Yes, Boy Wonder?”

“Thanks. Not for breaking my shoulder, but like, the other thing. Yeah.”

“Anytime, kiddo. Want some fries?”

* * *

Dick’s staring up at the lazily spinning fan from his bed as the thunder rumbles outside. Donna’s curled up in an armchair nearby, reading a book on Frida Kahlo.

“Hey, Donna?” he ventures, breaking the comfortable silence.

“Mm?” comes the reply.

“If you call me Boy Wonder, can I call you Troy Wonder?” he asks, a note of mischief in his voice.

This gets Donna’s attention, and she looks up from her book, blinking annoyedly. “What? No. Not unless you wanna die in your sleep, murdered by my hand,” she retorts.

Dick stretches and tucks his hands behind his head relaxedly. “Yeah, I’m definitely calling you Troy Wonder. ‘S got a nice ring to it.”

Behind her book, Donna raises her eyebrows and scoffs. “Guess someone’s about to meet their maker tonight, huh?”

He looks at her and sticks his tongue out. “Auntie Diana loves me, and killing me would make her sad. You wouldn’t wanna make her sad, would you, WonderTroy? Hey, WonderTroy! Even better!”

She curls up deeper into the armchair, muttering something under her breath.

“What was that? Speak up, can’t hear you over the thunder.”

“I said, a thousand curses on your wretched self and your infinitely unlucky family. You _Dick_.”

Dick narrows his eyes and smiles. “But Donna,” he says, as he flips himself over on his bed to face her, pouting, “ _you’re_ my family too!”

Donna opens her mouth to reply, but the remark seems to leave her out of words. Her previously squared shoulders drop a little, and her face looks confused as if she can’t figure out whether she’s pleased or terrified by the idea.

And then she narrows her eyes and smiles wickedly and says “Oh yeah?” as she places a pink Post-it on her page and snaps the books shut. “Well, if I’m family, then I can do this!” and she bounces onto his bed and tackles him with one swift movement. And then she starts tickling him.

Dick relents immediately, giggling “Okay-okay! I won’t-ever call you WonderTroy or Troy Wonder ever again! Please just-STOP!” he manages to get out between fits of laughter. Donna lets him go, and lightly smacks him on the forehead as a warning before she rolls onto his bedspread, joining him in watching the fan go round and round in lazy circles.

Dick scrunches up his nose and laughs. “Heh. WonderTroy.”

And then a loud “OW!”, when Donna smacks him for real this time.

* * *

It’s team bonding night. So, naturally, they’re bonding by fighting over which movie to play, and whose turn it is to make popcorn. Roy wants to watch Jurassic Park, but Wally wants to watch Star Trek. Dick watches them argue as Donna and Garth fight-and-flirt on who has to make the popcorn in the background. Sighing, he curls up further in the blanket. Maybe a team movie night was a bad idea, but it was a bit late to turn back on now. 

It was comfortable under the blanket, toasty and soft, lulling him to sleep after a long day of crime-fighting. Fourteen-year-old vigilantes needed their beauty sleep, especially when winter was creeping up slowly, making everything so so cold. So Dick curls up in the fleecy warmth, the voices of his teammates fading into the background, the darkness inviting him to close his eyes and drift off into dreamland, the dim glow of the inactive TV a stand-in night-light for him to rest easy. 

“Star Trek is suuuuuper boring, West. I’m not gonna spend movie night watching a bunch of losers monologue about computers and aliens. Jurassic Park’s actually worth watching - at least I can stay awake past the title!” says Roy, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Y’know, maybe if you watched something of taste, you’d finally grow a brain and realize Star Trek is the superior choice, dingus. We can start by watching The Original Series, and then you can grovel at my feet when you realize that I’m right.” Wally shoots back, hands on his hips.

“Never, you dipshit! It’s not even a movie!” yells Roy.

“You asshat!” retorts Wally.

“You can’t wear a hat on your ass, doofus. You really that stupid?” 

“Says the one who failed his last math test-”

“That was ONE TIME!”

Garth and Donna have fallen silent as they watch the speedster and the archer argue louder and louder until Donna realizes that their youngest member is fast asleep.

“Guys!” she hisses, shooting them a look. When they don’t stop, she ups her approach. “ _GUYS! Shut UP_!” she whisper-yells, miming slicing their necks as a threat. Wally and Roy zip it immediately when they see Robin passed out under a blanket, napping away the exhaustion of the day. 

“Maybe we should postpone movie night to a time when we’re all awake, okay? Help me get him to his room,” she says, as she crouches near his sleeping form to brush his hair out of his eyes. “ _Quietly.”_ Wally mock salutes and goes to turn the TV off, while Roy scoops up the sleeping boy, blanket and all, and carries him out of the living room. 

“He looks so much younger when he’s asleep, doesn’t he?” says Garth, watching Roy leave. Donna nods. “Yeah. It’s weird, that he’s still like, a _baby_ ,” she hums thoughtfully. “Only fourteen.”

Garth looks confused. “But Donna, you’re only seventeen. So am I. We aren’t children, and neither is he, not really.”

She bites her lip. “I’ve just known him so long now. He’ll never really be an adult to me, I guess.”

She turns to Garth, some unreadable expression crossing her face. “We should get to bed too. I’ll see you in the morning, then. Night.”

The next morning, she walks into the tower’s kitchen, where she can smell the bacon sizzling. Technically, none of them should be near an open flame after what happened last time, but fire hazards be damned, Donna loves a good hot breakfast any day of the week. Wally’s flipping the bacon while Roy gets the toast done, and Garth is going over the latest article about San Francisco’s mayoral elections. Dick is...not here. Hm. 

“Is our resident Boy Wonder sleeping in today?” she says, seating herself at the table. “He’s usually up pretty early, even on Saturdays.”

“Hm,” agrees Wally, setting a plate of bacon and eggs in front of her. “You’re right - and he loves hot breakfasts. He should’ve smelt it by now, right?”

“Maybe he’s just sleeping in, to make up for all those years Batman made him get up at the asscrack of dawn to _train_. Let him relax for once, y’know?” muses Roy. Garth nods in agreement absentmindedly. 

Donna shrugs and digs into her breakfast.

A couple of hours pass, and Dick’s still not up. Garth and Wally are playing some videogame, and Roy went to do some target practice. Donna’s relaxing on the couch with an old book on Alexander the Great, engrossed in the stories of ancient conquerors and bloody battles when Garth pauses the game and asks for a break. 

“Sure, go ahead, take a break from losing. Give the controller to someone with actual skills, like Donna. Hey Troy, wanna play?”

Donna rolls her eyes at Wally as if to say _really?_ so Wally looks around for Dick, but he’s still asleep, strangely enough. “I’ll go check on him,” he says and speeds away to Dick’s room. A second later, he speeds back with a worried look on his face, and Donna gets up, quickly marking her page with a pink Post-it, and sprints immediately to Dick’s room.

“I think he’s sick,” says Wally, as they look at Robin, delirious and sweating through his blankets. _That would explain why he fell asleep earliest last night, despite being the one who suggested the movie._ “No _shit,_ really? Thanks for the newsflash, Captain Obvious,” she says pointedly. Two fingers against his forehead tell her that whatever he’s sick with is going to be declared the winner of the Disease versus Dick’s Immune System cage match unless they do something. The thought worries her. “Should we call Bruce?” asks Wally worriedly. 

“We’d be better off calling Alfred. He’ll know what to do,” she replies, making her way to the telephone. _Gods, I sure hope he knows._

Alfred knows. He’s completely calm as Wally and Donna take turns explaining the situation, and instructs them on the art of taking care of a sick Dick. Lots of grilled cheese sandwiches and Panadol, and cold compresses, apparently. Under no circumstances should he be allowed any milk, and absolutely _no handstands!_ This last instruction had been repeated several times, and after hearing about the consequences of letting Dick do gymnastics while sick Donna was ready to duct-tape him to the bed if it meant a lower chance of a broken bone (or several).

The afternoon passes in a haze of one of the team constantly running to empty the sick bucket because the poor kid cannot keep anything down, and Donna’s panic is reaching new heights. Amazons don’t get sick, and it had been a long time since she or anyone near her had to deal with anything more serious than a cold. Alfred had said that Dick had a sensitive stomach, especially when he was sick, but it didn’t mean Donna’s heart didn’t lurch a little every time she heard him retch into the bucket.

A sick Robin means that the rest of the team is off their game. Robin is _kind of_ their leader, technically, because, y’know, he founded the team and his dad pays the bills, so the team isn’t really in the mood for carrying out any major missions. Wally does a speed check of the city and there seem to be limited crimes that night, but Roy still insists on going out to patrol. Garth goes with him. “I could use the distraction. I’ll see you guys later, then.”

Donna stares them down as they leave in the elevator. “Don’t do anything stupid, and don’t die.” 

The elevator goes _ding!_ as it closes and Wally whistles. “You’re setting the bar pretty low this particular evening. You stressed about the Robin situation?”

Donna feels the worry and anger rise up in her stomach and forces it down, covering up her feelings with a raised eyebrow and a roll of the eyes. “I just don’t want to have to play nurse to a whole team of idiot boys. Zeus knows you’re incapable of taking care of yourselves.”

Wally laughs. “You wouldn’t be wrong there, Don. I’m gonna go check on him, yeah? He’s been out of it all day and I just wanna be sure he’s asleep. I think I’ll sit with him for a bit.”

Donna sighs. “You do that, Wally. I’ll sit with him a bit later.”

She’s gonna go up to the roof. It smells like puke in here.

-

The roof is a pretty place - they’ve done it up nicely. A couple of lawn chairs and some overhead fairy lights, a small garden nearby and the pretty city of San Fran to look out at. Donna doesn’t even realize the sun has set when Wally zips up next to her, a blur of red hair and worried green eyes. 

“Donna, he’s getting worse, I-I think, um, he’s kind of being weird now, and he keeps asking for Bruce- are you sure the flu is supposed to be this bad?” he asks, knotting his fingers as he speaks. The cold air seems to sink into her bones all of a sudden, and she shivers. 

“I’ll come inside. I think it’s time for the next round of meds anyway,” she says, snapping her book shut and heading towards the door. Dick never actively asks to see Bruce, ever. It seems like a bad sign if he’s expressing such vulnerability now, that he’s sick enough to not be able to do his patented EverythingIsFine! routine.

It’s dark in his room, the curtains drawn, and she doesn’t want to turn on the lights because that would just be mean. So she makes her way to his bed carefully and gingerly perches on the end of it, trying to ignore how bad he’s shivering even under a pile of blankets. “Hey, Boy Wonder,” she says, trying to keep her voice calm, “how are we doing, hmm?”

Dick looks up at her, nose red and exhaustion visible, his hair damp and curling with sweat, a pitiful shadow of their usual chipper Robin. “You’re not my dad,” he says, sniffling. “I want Dad. I want him to be here, Donna. I miss him.”

She makes a sympathetic _hmm_ and reaches out to pat his shoulder gently. “I know, Lil’D, I know. But we asked Alfred about Bruce’s whereabouts, and apparently, he’s on the Watchtower with the rest of the League to plan some major offensive. Alfred said he’d send him over as soon as possible, so just hang in there, alright?”

Dick frowns and sniffs loudly, the indent on his brow creasing as he processes what Donna just said. “Not Bruce, Don, my _dad._ I miss him. He used to tell me stories when I was sick, and Mom would make my favorite food, ta help me get better faster, and... I miss them, Donna, why’d they have to go, and leave me here? I miss them so much..,” his words slur as tears start drip-dripping out of his eyes and onto the bedspread. Donna has to clap a hand over her mouth because _of course he’s asking for John Grayson, not Bruce Wayne._ Of course. 

She can feel the tears spring to her lashes as she rubs his shoulder sympathetically.

“Tell you what,” she says, surreptitiously wiping her eyes, “why don’t I tell you some stories? Diana told me loads when I was a kid, and they’re really interesting, yeah? But first, you gotta take your medicine, okay? How about I start with...uhh... Perseus? Yeah, let’s start with the myth of Perseus, okay?” She opens the curtains to let the moonlight in and moves to the chair next to his side table. Dick curls up in his blanket, eyes still full of tears, as she begins to tell the heroic tale.

The problem with Greek stories is that they’re almost always tragedies. Dick’s already lived through one, so she tells him the happiest story she can think of, the only one that ends in a happily ever after. As he listens, enthralled in the tale of Perseus saving Andromeda from the wrath of the sea, she leans forward to wipe a stray tear from his face and brush his hair out of his eyes. He looks so small, wrapped in his blue duvet, his face tired and sad, it makes something squeeze her heart so tight. At the back of her mind, she says a small prayer to any god that might be listening to please never let this kid get sick again because it breaks her spirit to see him this low.

He’s starting to get sleepy near the end, where Perseus cuts off the gorgon’s head, his eyes fluttering shut slowly, so she wraps up the story there. 

Dick opens his eyes blearily as she stops talking, and gives her a weak smile. “That was a really good story, Donna. Thanks.” 

She smiles. “Of course. You know, I have this book full of myths and legends. I’ll give it to you tomorrow - something to pass the time while you’re benched.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, sleepily. A beat of silence. 

“My dad would’ve liked your story.”

“He would’ve liked you. Mom too. I wish you could’ve met them, Donna. They would’ve really liked you, I think. They were the best. I really miss them.” his voice is a bit wobbly, like he might start crying again. “They would’ve-they would’ve liked that you’re lookin’ out f’r me, like a, like a big sishter, little bit.” 

The thing around Donna’s heart clenches again, and the pain is almost real.

She gets up and fixes his blanket to hide the barrage of emotions raging in her head. “Well,” she says, her voice low, “there’s no way I wouldn’t be there for my kid brother when he needs me, right?” She pats his head and taps him on the nose. “Get some sleep, Robin. And you’re taking a shower tomorrow, okay? No is not an option.”

On her way out of his room, she pauses at the doorway and turns to look at him once more. He’s already fast asleep. “Goodnight, μικρό πουλάκι,” she whispers, as she lets him drift into what will hopefully be a dreamless rest.

* * *

Donna’s on speakerphone as Dick packs his bags. 

“What do you mean he _fired_ you, Dick?! Robin was yours! He can’t just fire you...can he?”

Dick runs an arm across his eyes, hot tears blurring his vision. 

“I-I don’t know, Donna. All I know is that he means that he doesn’t want me anymore. If he doesn’t want me, I won’t stay. I won’t stay where I’m not wanted.”

Donna bites her lip hard on the other end of the phone. 

“Where are you going to go? You can stay with me and Diana for a bit, she’d be delighted to have you-”

“No. I think I’m just going to head to the tower. I have a bedroom there, and all my stuff’s there, and-and-what am I going to _do,_ Donna?” and his heart sounds like it’s crumbling into a million pieces as the tears flow and he can’t stop crying because it's all over and she doesn’t know how to help him because he sounds like he’s ten again and he misses his mom, and she’s all the way over here with Diana and her heart’s breaking too, and how does she help him?

“Dick. Dick, kiddo, sweetheart. Take a deep breath. Breathe.” She’s only a couple of years older than him, but somehow calling him kiddie nicknames comes so naturally to her it’s almost funny. “Everything will be okay, I promise, yeah? I’ve got your back. So does Uncle Clark, and so does Diana. But you need to think this through. What does Alfred think of all of this?”

Dick falls onto his bed, running his hand through his hair worriedly. “Alfred doesn’t want me to go. He says I should give Bruce time to calm down, but I don’t think it’s gonna happen, Don. I- I don’t know anymore.”

The two of them are silent for a few moments, angry tears still dripping down Dick’s face. 

“You remember how you told me, when we were kids, that I could be something other than Wondergirl when the time came? It hasn’t for me, not yet. But maybe this is it for you, Dick. You can become someone new, not just the Dark Knight’s partner, you know? Someone that’s just you.” Donna’s trying to keep her voice level, trying to stop her rising panic from bleeding into the conversation, but she can hear herself rising a quarter of an octave with each syllable.

He wipes his eyes and nods. He carries on packing in silence.

“It’s not just that, though, is it? There’s something else bothering you, right?”

“He’s- he’s supposed to be my dad, Donna. If not my father, my guardian. He tells me he cares about me, but if he cared he wouldn’t take aw-ay-he wouldn’t-” 

Dick’s voice starts breaking up over the phone as a fresh round of tears makes its’ way down his face.

“He took away my mom’s name for me, Donna. He took away my family’s colors like they were _nothing-_ ”

Donna bites her lip so hard she tastes copper.

“It-it feels like I’m a soldier, Don. Recruited one day, dishonorably discharged the next - I’m just a piece in his vendetta against the city. If he really thought of me as his son, or even bothered to remember that I was his ward before I was his sidekick, then maybe, just maybe, I-” He’s too angry to get the words out now, so he just stops talking.

Donna stays silent.

When Dick speaks again, his voice comes out harsh and flat. “I’ve gotta go, Donna. I’ll get in touch soon.”

“Stay safe, Dick. Don’t do anything stup- _beep beep beep,”_ He cuts the line before she can finish what she was going to say. 

* * *

It’s a cosy place, this restaurant Donna’s picked. Underground, accessible by an ornate iron staircase spiraling down. The walls are covered in beautiful abstract pieces in shades of blue and teal, contrasting with the warm wood paneling they’re hung on. The entire place is lit up by oversized lightbulbs clustered artistically over each lacquered-oak table. There’s a bar near the left side of the room and a few people who look like they’ve been there a while. 

Donna’s sitting across from him, sipping daintily on a bottle of orange soda as he drinks his beer.

“So, you’re doing photography now, huh?” he asks because it’s been a while since Donna quit superheroing. It’s been a while since they’ve had the time to sit down and talk like they used to - life’s just gotten so busy.

“Well, I do live in New York. I thought it was time that I fit in with the local hipsters, and now I know why they’re able to afford this kind of lifestyle,” she scoffs, gesturing vaguely at the people in the rest of the restaurant. “You would not believe the prices I get for my photos, Dick. It’s insane. How’s being a Bludhaven cop working out for you, then?”

Dick shrugs, a flutter of annoyance passing over his face. “Everyone is so _corrupt_ , Donna. So corrupt. My captain and Amy are the possibly the only two straight cops out there, trust me. It’s insane. That city is a mess.”

“Mmm. I told you to pick somewhere sunnier to settle. It’s not your job to clean up every trashy city in the Jersey area, you know,” she reminds him gently. 

He sighs. “I know, but someone has to look out for the people. There’s so many kids on the streets, Don. Somedays I wonder what it would’ve been like if you and I hadn’t been picked up by our...respective mentors. if we’d ended up like them instead.” He takes a long sip of his beer, looking deep in thought. “It’s crazy. How did we, two extremely normal middle-class kids, end up being adopted by the richest dude in all of Gotham and a warrior princess who rules over the deadliest women in the world?”

“You know? You’re right. How did that happen, and how did we end up becoming superheroes and then forming a team, and THEN splitting up, and then retiring at the ripe old age of twenty-five? For me, at least, because Zeus knows you’ll never give up beating up people in the dead of the night.”

“What can I say? Old habits die hard.”

Their conversation is interrupted by the waitress bringing them their food. She sets down what is essentially a fancy grilled cheese, and bowl of chow mein. 

Donna laughs incredulously. “Grilled cheese? I guess old habits really do die hard.”

“Hey! It was the only thing on the menu that made sense, honestly. Leave it to you to pick a place that’s so _in_ that they forget how to English.” 

She narrows her eyes mockingly. “Oooh, you’re on thin ice, Grayson. Better watch out unless you want orange soda in your grilled cheese.”

Dick chuckles. “I’d like to see you try, Troy.’

She laughs and smirks. “You know I could take you any day of the week, Dickiebird. Onto more pleasant things, however. Met any girls? Or has the ‘Dick Grayson Fanclub - Bludhaven Chapter’ not been formed yet?”

Dick rolls his eyes and grins. “Shut up, Don. There’s no fanclub, thanks so much, and besides. I’ve got my hands full. Don’t need a relationship to start clouding my judgment and giving criminals more targets to get to me. No thank you,” he says, taking a bite of the sandwich. “What about you? No men falling at the feet of the famous Donna Troy?”

“Mm, actually I did meet a guy, last week - at one of my exhibitions,” she drawls lazily. This piques Dick’s interest, and he leans forward, interested. “Yeah, he’s really sweet. Proposed and everything. The wedding’s next week, Tuesday night, in Honolulu. You have to come in beach shorts and a Hawaiian shirt, otherwise, you won’t be allowed in. The only food being served will be oysters and those prawn crackers you get as starters at those Chinese places. Look, I even have a ring to prove it!” she says, wrapping a noodle around her ring finger.

Dick chucks a french fry at her, and she dodges, laughing. 

“The way you sat up in your seat! Oh, that was priceless, Dickiebird!”

“I was actually happy for you, Don! Should’ve known you’d pull something like this.”

Donna sighs and gives him one of those _oh, Dick_ looks. “I was raised by a tribe of women who rose to power by slaughtering their husbands and were then given sanctuary on a secret island as a reward. It’s going to take one hell of a man for me to settle, Dick.”

“Well, Garth must’ve been one hell of man,” he remarks, the words slipping out before he remembers that _wait, Garth isn’t here anymore, shitshitshit-_

Donna’s face immediately loses its’ cheer as her emotions shutter completely, replaced by a carefully constructed neutral expression. “Garth-” she says, her tone controlled and quiet, “-Garth, was the only exception. You know that.”

Dick goes very still, his eyes wide, his mouth becoming a harsh line. His lack of movement superimposed against the laughing and smiling people in the warm interior of the restaurant makes them seem distant and unreal. “Donna, I’m sor-” 

“Save it, Dick.” 

A few minutes of silence pass between them, the ambient noise not enough to fill the hush that had fallen between them. Garth had died years ago. Donna had never really gotten over it. It was why the team had broken up when they did - losing a member was just too much to handle. 

The silence is louder than any of the wine-drunk idiots standing over by the bar. Donna’s head is resting on her fist facing away from him, her fingers tight around the glass bottle of soda.

“My replacement calls me Dickiebird too,” says Dick, at an attempt for a peace offering, his voice small. 

Donna turns her head towards him, and he can see the slight glint of tears on her lashes. “Yeah?” she replies, her voice wobbling. She swallows the lump in her throat, and wipes her face hard. “So he’s got a sense of humor then, unlike you, huh?”

“Uh, yeah. If that’s what we’re going to call it, then sure,” he says, tilting his head. “It’s more angry-street-kid-wit plus this weird inferiority complex that results in him being just a tad over with the insults. But if you look past that, he’s not that bad of a kid. Not as bad as I was, anyway,” he grins sheepishly.

“Yeah, you were an awful kid,” laughs Donna. It’s a wet, muted laugh, not forced, but not genuine either. 

“Lucky for me,” continues Dick, “I had a really cool sister to look up to, and she made me less of a brat, I suppose.”

“Oh yeah?” challenges Donna.

“Yeah,” says Dick. “She’s the best. Donna- I’m sorry. I know Garth was the only exception. I shouldn’t have brought him up. I know how much you miss him-I miss him too. I just-I forget he’s not around anymore.”

Donna sighs. “He was my everything for the shortest amount of time- all because I put my faith in a destiny I ended up throwing away. It’s hard to forget that he died and all I did was say no to him when I so desperately-” her breath hitches, her emotions catching up to her, “-so desperately wanted to say yes.” 

Dick silently reaches for her hand, the one that’s gripping the glass soda bottle with white-knuckled fingers, and gently removes the bottle from her grip. “You know,” he says quietly, “Garth asked me for advice on how to get you to say yes. I am not joking when I say this, Donna, but the idiot loved you. I know you didn’t spend a lot of time together, and I know how truly horrible that is, but Don, he loved you. He really did. And he died knowing you loved him, and that was all he really wanted.”

Donna scrubs at her eyes. “To Garth,” she says, raising her bottle. “I’ll always love him.” 

“And so he lives on. To Garth,” says Dick, gently clinking his against hers. 

* * *

The smoke had finally cleared, but his lungs were still achy. But his lungs hurting meant he was still alive. He was alive! Little bit charred, little bit destroyed, but alive nonetheless. Relief floods every corner of his mind at this deduction, but every muscle in his body screams as he attempts (to no avail) to get up. _It’s alright,_ he tells himself. _I’m fine. I can feel everything, I can see, I can hear, I’ll be fine._ So he takes a deep breath, and starts over. _Reach your arm out, yes like that, palm flat on the ground - good, good, - other arm now, yes and slowly lift yourself off the ground, okay, almost there, and there-we-go!_

He props himself up off the ground on his arm, raising his head slowly to look around for the robot that had attacked the team. It had been some sort of Superman-clone-robot, imbued with all the strength of the Man of Steel but none of his vulnerabilities. _Ouch._ His head hurts. A concussion, maybe? He’s not sure when or how he hit the ground, but the last thing he remembers is Cyborg yelling how he’d managed to connect himself to the robot and was trying to - what was he trying to do? Disable it? Destroy it? Dick’s not quite sure. 

He gets up slowly, his head still a little bit shaky from the fall, and he sees a figure a few feet from him. A black starry jumpsuit, silver lasso glowing at her side, black hair splashed on the ground- _Donna!_ He makes his way to her as fast as possible and kneels down by her body. It kind of looks like she’s taking an impromptu nap on the roof of the Tower, the way she’s got an arm extended and is on her side, one leg extended and the other gently bent at the knee. A sort of Amazonian Sleeping Beauty pose, because only Donna could get knocked out in battle and still look graceful unconscious.

She seems unharmed, her eyes shut, her expression blank. He gently pats her cheek, going “Don. Donna! Wake up, WonderTroy.”

She doesn’t respond.

Dick’s confused. She seems fine, and _-aagh, shhhiiiit,_ his head HURTS. He digs his fingers into his palm, momentarily distracted from the seemingly asleep Amazon in front of him, his head throbbing. He grabs his head as if squeezing it will make the pain any less. It doesn’t. He takes a couple of deep breaths, in and out, in and out, and yeah, he can feel the pain subsiding. Sort of. Whatever.

Donna’s still out of it, but he doesn’t understand. He’s alive, and she must be too, she’s an Amazon, ha, death’s not even a real possibility - is it? He’s forgetting if he ever actually asked her that question. What happens to an Amazon when they die? Isn’t the whole island made up of heroic dead women? Does she count? She was originally human, right? 

What is he talking about? This is _Donna freakin’ Troy!_ She’s more badass than B and Clark together- she’s-she’s been around forever. There’s no way she’s leaving now, because she’s super-durable and super-awesome and currently, just a little bit- asleep! She’s asleep. Just sleeping. Right?

Stupid concussed brain. He can’t think straight. The pounding in his skull isn’t going away, despite what he wants to believe, and he’s missing something, from this scene. He’s not sure what. What do you do when you find your teammate unharmed but unresponsive? What is step one to bringing them back? Why can’t he think?

Her pulse. He didn’t take her _pulse!_ Like an idiot, a concussed idiot, that’s what he’s been missing. Her pulse. In her wrist..! So he slides off her silver wristband and puts two fingers to the blue veins under her pale skin, tensed and waiting for the slight _bump-bump_ under her skin, the indication that Donna Troy is still alive and kicking.

It doesn’t come. But that can’t be right, unless - no, _check under her jaw_ , says Bruce’s training at the back of his head. _The pulse is always stronger under the jaw_. Of course. Stupid _. She’s unconscious, so her pulse will be weaker._ Two fingers under the end of her jawbone, glove off his one hand so he can feel the slightest movement, and he waits.

he waits and he waits, more than thirty seconds, more than a minute-

It doesn’t come.

The realization sends him scrambling backwards, because _that’s not right how could this happen Donna’s not dead she can’t be dead-_

And that’s when he sees it. 

He takes in the picture, the shift in perspective giving him the needed clarity to see what’s actually happening. Her arm isn’t extended like she’s sleeping - it’s twisted in the wrong direction, yanked out of its socket. Her head isn’t gently resting on said arm -it’s- it’s been bent out of place. Her neck is a weird angle, he realizes, _completely broken_ , fractured to a degree of irreparable damage. 

Dick thinks he’s going to be sick. 

He can feel the bile rising in his throat the longer he looks at her mangled body but he can’t seem to look away. He feels hot tears run down his face, making tracks in the dirt on his cheeks, but he makes no motion to wipe them away. Instead, he crawls slowly towards her broken form, reaching out to grab her hand, the electric blue finger stripes bright against the vantablack base of his suit and her soft hands. He grips her hand tight as if he can wish her back to life, squeezing his eyes shut in desperation. “Donna,” he says, his voice breaking, “Donna. I need you to wake up, Donna. Wake up. _Wake up, please,_ ” his mind taking him back to when he was _eight years and old and his parents’ brains were on his shoes and they weren’t waking up he needed them to get up why weren’t they getting up-_

He shakes his head, clearing his mind while the insistent throbbing starts up again because right now, maybe he can save her. CPR, he could do that. It could work. Focus. He starts with chest compressions, but no response, so he goes to breathe into her mouth but then he sees her head, turned the wrong way and he _can’t-_

So he sits there, holding her one good hand with both of his own, sobbing and praying to whoever would listen to give him Donna back and take him instead, to please make the trade now, _please,_ he’d do anything just give him his big sister back _please_ because he’s already lost Mom and Dad once and Jason too and he keeps losing family and he can’t, not again, he can’t go through this again, he wants to scream, _it’s not fair;_ it’s not fair! He wants to scream until he loses his voice, until his throat is red and bloody and raw, he wants to scream that _it’s not fair it’s not fair it’s not..._

It’s not fair.

He doesn’t realize it, but in between his sobs he’s picked up Donna’s body and started cradling it, holding onto her corpse like a child holding a rag doll, desperation and anger and sadness mixing in his tears as he hugs her and sobs into her shoulder. Her hair still smells like flowers from the Amazon-made shampoo she used, and her skin is still warm against his cheek and his head won’t stop hurting and _he doesn’t know what to do anymore._

He doesn’t know how long he sits there, holding her. It could’ve been thirty seconds or thirty years - he can’t seem to let go of her. His hands grip the material of her suit so tightly it’s a wonder it hasn’t torn yet, as her arms trail listlessly on the ground, her eyes still closed and unmoving. He’s started rocking back and forth, mumbling “No, no, no, this can’t be happening. It’s not happening. It can’t be happening, it’s not,” a prayer of denial muttered in a fit of temporary insanity, in the hope that some kindly otherworldly being would fix it, would fix _all_ of it, and make this pain go away and bring her back, _please,_

“WonderTroy, _please,”_ he says, holding her out in front of him. Her head lolls at an angle that makes her look like a smashed Barbie, her skin slowly getting paler with each passing moment. “I promised- _hic_ -I promised I would never call you that, remember?” he manages to get out between sobs. “You said-you said you’d kill me if I called you Troy Wonder. So come back, Donna, _come back_ and kill me!You promised- _hic_ -you promised you’d always be there for me, so don’t bail on me now, WonderTroy, please _. Donna. Please._ ”

There’s no answer. Her hair seems to have lost its’ luster, her lasso dimming in the grey rubble that surrounds them. The stars on her suit seem to die out one by one, and Dick still can’t find it in him to let go of her. 

His voice is raspy and raw from sobbing, his eyes red and his nose running, as he tries one more time to bring her back. _An exercise in futility,_ says Batman in the darkest corner of his aching mind, but he tries anyway. 

“ _Please._ ” A one-syllable, a phrase that he used to use to use to win free hugs from her when he felt down, for staying over when he was injured, for favors he’d ask from no one but her, and now he was asking her, one last time. _You’d said there were no good-byes between us._ _Please._

She doesn’t respond. 

-

It’s a rainy day in summer when they bury her. Cold and overcast, the clouds purple and grey as they pour rain onto the procession carrying her casket. 

_Donna would’ve liked this_ , he thinks, _she loved it when it rained_.

A tall woman in burgundy heels and a red coat stands near the grave, her black dress making her tower over everyone else there as she stands with her head in her hands, Bruce’s hand on her shoulder. 

It makes sense, in some twisted, broken part of his mind, that they met on a rainy day in June, and now they should (he should) say goodbye in the same way he had waved goodbye from the doorstep of the manor to his new friend, all those years ago. History was bound to repeat itself, Donna would say. _You would know that, if you bothered picking up a book once in a while, Boy Wonder,_ laughs her voice at the back of his head.

-

The gravestone is pretty, simplistic and made out of marble. The inscription reads:

_Here lies Donna Troy_

_Daughter, Friend, Hero._

_May Hades grant you Elsiyum._

_And may you rest in peace._

After everyone leaves, Dick kneels down by the grave and takes out a small pink Post-it. He tacks it onto the stone, next to the etching of _Hero._ He smiles sadly, places a small bouquet of violets on the grave, and walks away.

The Post-It alters the headstone by a fraction, and it now reads: 

_Here lies Donna Troy_

_Daughter, Friend, Hero._

_Sister._

**Author's Note:**

> μικρό πουλάκι - google translate says it means 'little bird' in greek.
> 
> *title stolen from a series of unfortunate events - darling, dearest, dead.


End file.
